The Edward Fairfax Rochester Diaries
by Commander Of Brontdor
Summary: A hypothetical imagining of the past of one of Bronte's best!
1. Infancy

Haragatt Rochester peered down the long, straight bridge of his nose to his second born (remarking that the boys nose too, had such characteristics)

His wife lay on the bed. Stiff. Cold. The colour of her skin already stiffened to blue. His eyes turned to her, and didn't stray to his son for an hour more, until Mrs Fairfax crept into the room, hands folded. "Sir… They want to take her body now, Sir… and the baby will need feeding…"

It was only then he threw a scowling glance to his second son's crib. "Take him" he demanded coldly.

He remained in the room for the entire night

* * *

><p>Rowan stretched out his stubby arms and slid his little brother clumsily into his hold "he's so small!" he giggled. Edward beamed his toothless baby smile at the pudgy young face above his.<p>

"He is that!" chuckled Mrs Fairfax, bending down to whisper to the young brother "and when he's your age, you'll play together, eh?" Rowan laughed excitedly

"Put him down son" boomed a voice from the doorway where Mr Rochester stood, grave and still. "Leave him, son. Children are a woman's game" and with that he beckoned his eldest son away as Mrs Fairfax took the little one from him.

Mrs Fairfax rocked and bobbed the now distressed infant. "I've watched a few people grow up, my lad" she said between his gurns and gasps "and you'll be a good 'un!"

* * *

><p>Mrs Fairfax fixed her gazed stare out the window. She needed detachment from what she had to say to him. She burned to say it, ever since Mrs Rochester passed away on the lad's birthday.<p>

"Why is the blasted thing wailing!" Mr Rochester continued gruffly "I can hear from all over the house!"

Mrs Fairfax rose from her seat next to the cradle whilst continuing to rock it "I think 'e wants 'is father, sir" she declared.

She fancied that young Edward had ceased his crying the very moment Mr Rochester's black boots started to thud evenly and slowly across the room to the cradle...

His dark eyes looked into his son's (the boy had inherited those, too). Mrs Fairfax dared to peer round to the scene she wanted to see so badly. Her heart melted.

"'E has your eyes, Sir" she nodded.

"Better than having hers, I suppose…" he replied, almost whisperingly. "I don't think I could stomach seeing her own little emerald eyes smiling at me"

He stiffened again, his mouth turning grimmer "my god…" he spat.

"He has her _smile_".

The coattails whipped the air as he turned to stride from the room. At least Mr Rochester had referred to his son as 'he' this time.

**Childhood, adolescence and POSSIBLY youth (all the sleeping about and being sold off by his da') to come; trying to make them interesting!**


	2. Childhood

He climbed faster. He ran faster. He swam faster.

Edward used to be a baby. Small and defenceless. Not round like most babies or chubby like most babies, but weak and soft and frail. Rowan strained and struggled to maintain _this_ image of the younger brother that was fast outmanoeuvring his own praised athletic ability

His ages from one to 10 seemed to break apart, year by year, the frailness that surrounded his person. He was strong, agile and quick. If it weren't for his scraggy features, he would be the defining mould of a future heir, but Rowan _did _take solace in the fact that Edward's hard and unchildlike face would never gain cooing admiration from ladies.

* * *

><p>Rowan's green eyes sparked "Diana's coming" he hissed to his brother. Edward turned his blushing face upward and scowled shyly from her. She was a tall, rubenesque girl with long, swishing black hair and glittering blue eyes<p>

"She'd never like him…" Rowan sneered internally, before throwing his hand into the air and waving it thoroughly "Diana!" he crowed, much to Edward's embarrassment, who began slowly stalking away from his brother. He grimaced as he heard her soft voice call back to them "it's the twins!" she giggled, scampering along the grass to where Edward sat, reading furiously in an attempt to distract his battering heart and apple red cheeks.

He closed his eyes against her honest, laughing voice that always spoke to Rowan and not him.

As if a skip in time had occurred, the situation turned dire and surreal…

"Rowan, _don't_!" he heard her squeal indignantly. In a similarly quick second, Edward's book lay discarded on the grass as he turned to see Rowan grab Diana and attempt to press a kiss to her, clumsily and forcibly. In another flashing second, Edward had torn Rowan away from her and fought him away from where she stood.

When Rowan stumbled to the ground via a fortunately situated tree stump, Edward took advantage of the empowered vantage point. They shared an electrically angry stare, and Edward turned from him.

Rowan launched forward with all his body weight and toppled both of them into a crashing, yelling, inelegant swirl, clumping to a stop at the end of a small hill, Rowan towering over Edward, he spat "she wouldn't want _you_! Why would she want _you_! Father doesn't even want-"

Edward's rammed his fist to the source of these vile declarations, toppling Rowan from his confident position.


	3. Adolescence

The blood was so very, vividly red, staining and splattering the murdered Fox's fine orange-brown coat, it's belly splayed open like grotesque wings.

The rest of the hunting party sounded relaxed and triumphant, assembled together in the wood like a cult gathering for the final rapture.

'Rowan' his father summoned. As ordered, the first born Rochester took one stride forward. He had grown both sturdy and elegant, and swiftly dipped to the opened fox. Edward's trachea lurched, struggling to hide his shoulders jutting forward slightly as his mind tried to calm his nausea 'It shall be over soon…' he promised himself.

Daniel Tillingsworth despised this twisted ritual as well, and currently fixed a reassuring look at Edward. It was a gaze Edward dare not meet. The boy was thin, blonde, with confident, warm grey eyes that triggered in Edward's heart irrepressible rolls of electric excitement and another peculiar sense – a sense Edward could only describe as a feeling of 'completeness'.

Rowan, gravely but with a certain smirk he could not suppress, stood before his brother and raised his bloodied fingers. Edward's rapid breaths and curdled lip at the sight did not escape the hawk eyed suspicion of the finely groomed, finely dressed cluster. Edward closed his eyes as his brother dragged the blood down his cheeks, the cold wetness pinching him. The same with the opposite cheek.

He wished to weep, but instead set to his own ritual. He tensed his face, set his jaw, and smiled.

* * *

><p>'The hunt went swimmingly, Papa' Rowan declared to his father and the rest of the party. Edward fled under the cloak of agreeing murmers, laughter and talk. Upon shutting the servants' door behind him, he devoured a breath of fresh, unpolluted country air, and returned it with an exhale. 'You hated it as well, Ed?' came a lilting, happy voice to his left. Daniel.<p>

'You escaped, did you?' Edward returned rather gruffly, turning to walk away. 'Edward…' Daniel said softly, slipping his hand onto his shoulder and encouraging his friend to face him. Edward tore his hand away from his shoulder and cast it back to Daniel, who caught it back and glared stoically. 'I've been missing you' he said 'I know you've missed me too'.

Edward's heart roared in agreement with Daniel as the hot, gripping yearn swelled up inside him again.

Daniel's hand made a jump for Edward's. He caught it, ready to swing it back away from him, but stalled. His steel grip slipped downward from Daniel's wrist. Their hands sealed into one another, their fingers easily falling into place beside one another. His hand was warm; caressing. This _was _right. Edward stepped cautiously but determinedly nearer Daniel…

'Edward, old lad, the party's – ' a loud, familiar, sneering voice boomed from the door. Rowan knew Edward's escape routes. The boys burst apart from each other as Rowan's confident smile dimmed to a suspicious squint dashing from Daniel to Edward. Upon encountering Rowans stinging stare, he walked away as innocently as he could. Edward angrily pierced his brother with emotive, tearful eyes before pushing past him slightly to get to the door. 'Didn't enjoy the hunt, Ed?' Rowan **SNICKERED** 'people will think you're soft, old boy'.

Edward re-entered Thornfield Hall.


	4. Adulthood

**Jeeso, this update took me ages. Enjoy, anyway.**

Edward lit up a cigar. A quick 'FTCH-oooooooo…' and the sweet briar and jasmine exhaled from the end in heavenly tendrils. A round, pale hand slapped onto his chest. Both he and his lover were jewelled with sweat as their panting chests began to regulate unevenly. 'That was _wonderful_' she hissed hotly in his ear. Edward rolled her softly into his arms and rested his forehead against hers, pouring his gaze into her eyes.

'I love you' he whisped, though in their respective hearts, no warm feeling of any permanence dwelled.

'I love you, also' she cooed, until a disappointment unwrapped within her. She did not love him, and only she out of the two of them knew it. She rose from the silk bedding.

'Where are you going' he whispered seductively, paddling his fingers up her waist and leaning in to kiss her neck. 'Stay with me' he insisted.

Usually she could resist him, but he smiled in a certain way and touched her in a certain way, free of lewd want, but with an unspoken, omnipotent promise of dark satisfaction; a promise she had immediate faith in, as if she had prayed for it.

'You don't love me' she stated, as the warmth of his mouth began to lap at hers. 'Celine' he said vaguely, as she got up fully from the bed and began to slip on her various dress 'I _do_ love you, I pledge it constantly'.

'Your pledges and gifts never bear any constancy… You cannot love me; you say I am beautiful and gracious: those words ripple with truth when I look into your eyes, but you do not love _me'._

The argument that ensued was one of considerable warmth, after which, they both parted to their separate indulgences: Edward secluded himself to a gambling ring, and Celine sought refuge in an elegant get-together. Edward returned earlier, full of drink and lust, to discover Celine had chosen to drown her sorrows in _another_ form of debauchery…

* * *

><p>I rode Mesrour forward with a more thrashing haste than I usually reserved for my returning to Thornfield. He galloped obediently, nonetheless. If only women were as easy to master. It was as if Cupid had an evil doppelgänger , who speared the hearts of the besotted with poisoned arrows.<p>

Mid-gallop, I was tossed violently from my unruly steed. Upon regaining my swirling vision, I gazed angrily from the mud at the pale, small, childish creature that startled Mesrour.

Her features, and expression were of supreme contradiction: she was enquiring and firm, helpful and stoical.

'Are you injured, Sir?' her voice unyielding and curious. I swore and cursed, for want of nothing better to say, demanding 'you must stand to one side' as I plodded up from the dirt she had cast me into. I heaved and stamped a great deal for effect.

I passed through her helping me to my horse in a humid dazed. Ever vigilant to maintain my ground against her, I grunted and gruffed through the encounter, allowing no hint of my excitement and triumph to drip through, as I learnt she would be living with me.

Upon recommencement of my journey, I swatted away thoughts half-dipped in eroticism. 'I should have offered her a ride home' … 'pulled her up onto Mesrour, shelter her small form with my cloak…'.

However, reason prevailed that she may be as vapid and worthless as my string of betrayers and disappointments; ignoring the creeping fact that I would come to enjoy probing her to assure whether or not she was so.


End file.
